


Paradoxical

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-08
Updated: 2002-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows "The Love We're After"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradoxical

## Paradoxical

by cheddarandonion

<http://traitorsgate.diaryland.com>

* * *

[If the slayer thinks he slays] 

He wondered if Clark would ever notice, would ever understand. He wondered if Clark would ever forgive him. 

Lionel chuckled silently behind him. This man, his father, his love/hate relationship with the one who sired him and the one whom his mother chose as a husband. The one he's saddled with. He understood deep down inside, that however hard he tried Lionel would always be his father, and wondered if Lionel understood that he will always be his son. 

A man could run away from his family, severed the ties with one's father, but he'd always be 'the son who ran away'. And no matter how hard Lionel swore up and down the stream about disowning him, he'll always be 'the Luthor kid who got disowned.' There's not really a way around the whole situation. 

He bit down a laugh. He didn't want to, not now, not when he's leaving Clark behind, not when he's so unsure of himself. 

The pain in Clark's eyes was evident, made itself known through the barriers of oxygen and dust particles, but more importantly, the barriers that he had built around his heart. There's no one allowed to see how red and how alive his heart was, how frantic beatings colored his days, and how much he craved for... this and that. 

No one. 

But Clark. 

[If the slain thinks he is slain] 

At first Clark couldn't believe his eyes, he thought he was halucinating, though he wouldn't be surprised with the amount of foreign substances introduced to his body. He lost count of time, lost count of his prayers, his days were hazy at best, like a cloud hanging so low above his head he couldn't see what's in front of him. 

Day in day out he wondered about the people he cared about, his parents, his friends, the quaint little town that was Smallville, and his heart. His heart that he forgot to bring with him. The heart that he laid on Lex's bed as he left. Did Lex knew? 

He thought Lex knew, when everything suddenly turned as clear as daylight, as if the past months had never happened. He was tired and he was refreshed. Though not physically, damn green rocks holding him down. Like a breath of fresh water in the middle of the desert. He's still heaving and whizzing, and dizzy and dying, but he had hope. 

Somehow. 

And Lex left. 

He didn't call after the retreating figure. He glared into Lionel's back hoping for once he had enough to burn him down, enough to leave ashes on the floor. But he didn't. He gave everything for love and now he's in no place to regret his decision. 

The buzz of people and instruments settled back in his mind, holding him more firmly than before now he settled into a cold feeling of helplessness. Lex was right. Love weakened people, somehow along the way both of them fell into the lure of this love. He felt, only one of them survived and walked away stronger. 

He regretted that the one wasn't him. 

[Both of these do not understand] 

Maybe he should not walked away, he pondered, as he stared at the endless pile of papers strewn on his desk. Maybe he should 'fuck-it-all' and answered those sad eyes. His life had always been monotoneous, slow in some parts and dangerously fast in yet some others. Drifting and floating in and out of reality, the cold light of day and the burning nights of faceless people. His mother, Pamela, then Clark. They were the beacons that helped him swim back ashore, the ones that held him anchored in the turbulence that was his life. 

Maybe he'd made a mistake. 

Lionel walked into his office, uninvited, unwanted. 

"What do you want, Dad?" 

The chair scraped silently against the deep rug and a small thud echoed low in his ears as Lionel invited himself to a seat. He wished he had one of those buttons that opened a bottomless bowel under his father. But he wouldn't do that, not enough entertainment factor. 

"About the boy..." 

"What about him?" He swiveled his chair so he faced nothing but the open window. The night air rushing to greet him. He trusted his facial features not to falter, but nevertheless. 

"You're not going to do anything about it?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Doesn't it affect you?" 

He turned slowly, confronting his father. The older man looked so much older, so tired, yet still full of himself. He smiled. "Maybe." 

"You're not going to say anything to me?" 

This was the game they played. An old game. He was too tired, but haste would undo the plans he had carefully constructed. He wanted to be on top of the world, he was, yet he was aiming higher. He wanted to fly. Not the kind of flying he associated with the sensation right before he met Clark. Not the disembodied flight that promised to carry him to to the otherworld. Not the kind of flight that made his body all translucent. And dead. 

"Of course I'm going to say something to you." He stared at his desk, the papers on it, the disks and the pens and the post-it notes. He picked up a folder from beneath open books and ledgers. 

Circling the table he couldn't help but wonder how he's staring down at his father. He was standing, his father was sitting down. He was higher than his father, and this will be the end of a nightmare. And what an ending. Higher than his father. The folder dropped on the Armani-clad legs. Ginger hands covered with paper-y skin reached for it, slowly, confidently, yet uncertainty hung heavy in the air. 

Lex took in the sidelong features of his father. The tired eyes, the gaunt face. The curl of lips and the confident straight-back sit. He looked at the city in front of him, glittering like jewels in a velvet box. Beautiful. This was the scene that his father would look upon from his office high up in LuthorCorp tower, watching the lights unfurl, like a king observing his kingdom. 

He wondered whether his father had seen the real jewels, blinking in the sky above, the pure, unadulterated beauty of white diamonds spread on the purest of black velvet. Soft and inviting. Intoxicating, he could lose himself forever in the illusion they presented. Clark showed him the sky one clear summer night. The Smallville sky, untainted by the mutations below. He fell in love with the sky, and one day he hoped he would fly. 

A gasp returned him to reality. He smiled, and with long strides he walked towards the door. He heard the chair toppled back, but he wouldn't want to see. He wouldn't want to see a towering, defeated Lionel. He wanted the last thing he could remember of his dad was how small he was, sitting in the ornate chair in his office. 

"Now you understand, Dad." Walking was an easy task. Walking away was hard. He was walking away from his father. "He's no alien." 

He heard an intake of breath, a question running to catch up with him. 

"If I say so, then they'll say so." He edged the door open. 

Shadows caught up with him. The world spinning around him, the whispers of a distant thunder, an absolution. 

"I have nothing against you. But I want to see your name in tomorrow's obituary." 

There were things he'd regret in the future, patricide was among them. But there were other things he'd regret more. He hoped things could be different, he hoped he didn't have to choose. But life wasn't cut that way. 

[He slays not, is not slain] 

A whisper urged Clark away from his drugged sleep. His forehead was covered with something damp and his body was warm. Warmer than he could remember. The voice was soft, and soothing. He thought he was lost. 

"I found you," he heard the low exclamation. He opened his eyes to the intensity, the warm insistence of it. He loathed to leave the silent coccoon of sleep, like a baby in a womb, but he understood that even then, he'd have to go the mile. 

Bleary eyed he focused on a bright light. Tiredly he smiled. "Your head is blinding." 

He saw Lex smile, "I'm not letting go." 

Surges of power, the spiral of ability, ones that laid deep down in the pit of his stomach, rose, coiled with such intensity, surged upwards, around him, took him by surprise. He was lightheaded, deliciously lost and found. The blue green lights, the red hot air, the black sky, the white lights. He was flying, high up in the sky. 

Lex was in his circled arms, eyes wide, smiles wide, arms reaching to the distant stars. "I have you, I'm not letting go." 

**-FIN-**

Note:  
1\. Lines from Katha Upanishad.  
2\. I can't, I can't bear a sad ending. I ended up not sleeping. This is a sequel to "The Love We're After." 


End file.
